


Compass

by gemjam



Category: Formula 1 RPF
Genre: Caning, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-30
Updated: 2012-08-30
Packaged: 2017-11-13 04:55:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,768
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/499719
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gemjam/pseuds/gemjam
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jake needs to remember that actions come with consequences.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Compass

**Author's Note:**

> Many thanks to zeraparker for hand-holding, idea bouncing and going through it for me.

The knock on the door made Jake blink his eyes open, squinting at the TV that was still murmuring quietly to itself. He sat up, stretching his arms upwards and arching his back. It wasn’t late, but he was tired, a long day and a big dinner making him sleepy, every soft surface seeming far too comfortable. He’d stayed in the bar for one drink but knew that he’d embarrass himself if he had any more, so he’d made his excuses and headed up to his room, content to doze in front of a TV show he didn’t even understand.

He flicked the TV off, dragging his feet slightly as he headed for the door, not really in the mood for company. As he put his eye up to the peephole, he found his body becoming rather deliciously more alert though. He tried to straighten the creases from his shirt before he pulled the door open.

Mark didn’t offer any kind of greeting, just strode straight into the room, Red Bull cap thrown down on the desk, Red Bull jacket tossed onto the back of the chair. So much branding; he was practically a walking billboard. Jake closed the door, moving further into the room, but Mark still didn’t look at him, heading instead to the small wardrobe the hotel offered, pulling it open. Jake shifted on his feet, feeling uncertain and a little bit dizzy with Mark’s momentum. There weren’t many things in the world that made Jake feel small, but Mark was undoubtedly one of them.

Mark lifted the dressing gown from the wardrobe, holding it up on its hanger. “You’re so predictable, Humphrey.”

Jake frowned. “Am I?”

Mark smiled in a way that looked almost predatory. “As soon as I saw that feature with the jackets, that market stall, all those textiles, you were in heaven, weren’t you?”

Even as Jake felt his cheeks flush, he realised he had a glimmer at getting the upper hand back here. “You watched my show?”

Mark shrugged, apparently completely unashamed of the fact that he chose to find time during a busy race weekend schedule to watch a few hours of Jake doing his thing. “Just been catching up with today’s,” he stated. “Forum included.”

Jake felt any flicker of a smile drop from his face, his stomach flipping over in that heavy way, and suddenly he was right back there again, acting before he’d engaged his brain. It seemed like a laugh; the tweet had amused him and he knew it would amuse Jenson too, it was all just a bit of fun. The second after he’d pressed his lips to Jenson’s cheek he realised what a complete idiot he’d been though. His mind began reeling instantly, his thoughts flailing as he marvelled at his complete inability to be a professional. He’d shown himself up, embarrassed himself beyond measure.

It could have been funny, if he’d exaggerated it enough, made a jokey show of it, but he’d been meek and timid about it, shy like a pathetic schoolboy, and he realised that people, that _Jenson_ , might think that he meant it. Jenson’s reaction, his blush and awkwardness, just told Jake that he wanted to be anywhere else and probably wouldn’t be in a rush to stand by Jake’s side again anytime soon. He could have just fucked up a relationship that gave him a hell of a lot of access to McLaren.

And in all that panicking, he hadn’t even considered Mark’s reaction. Now he couldn’t think about anything else. His cheeks were burning again, shame stinging at his eyes, and he took shallow breaths as he waited to see what Mark was going to do next.

Mark, apparently, was going to look appraisingly over Jake’s new dressing gown. It was black satin, cool to the touch, and Jake loved the way his fingers glided over the material. He saw it in the back of the shop as soon as he’d walked in and bided his time until he could pay for it without anyone seeing, knowing that he had to have it. His fingers itched to touch when he saw it hung up there, just slightly beyond his fingertips, and that was just what he did when he got it back to the hotel and hung it up in his own room, sliding his hands over the smooth material, the complete lack of friction making it so sensual and erotic.

“Have you wanked over it yet?” Mark asked, still turning it around on its hanger, looking at it from every angle. “No stains, so I’m guessing you haven’t.” He looked up at Jake, appraising him instead, and Jake could feel his face burning like a beacon, sure Mark must be able to feel the heat of it from where he stood. “Nice to see you showing some restraint,” Mark commented. “I was sure you’d have covered it in come by now.”

Jake just stared back at him, breaths coming out shaky now, his cock half-hard despite how mortified he felt, or more likely because of it. Mark took a step forward and Jake instinctively took a step back. Mark grinned. He pulled the sash from the robe, the satin whispering as it slid across itself, and Jake almost sighed along with it, feeling the throb in his groin. He stared at the sash, already feeling it wrapped tight around his wrists, holding him in place, when Mark dropped it to the floor, pulling the robe from the hanger instead, tossing the bit of plastic aside.

He moved past Jake, shaking the dressing gown so that the material fanned out over the bed, covering the biggest area it could. Jake watched as Mark’s hands slid over the material, smoothing it out, and he felt jealous. He wanted to touch, wanted to indulge, wanted to feel it shifting and sliding under his palms. He bit his lip, taking in a sharp intake of breath as he shifted on his feet, trying to ignore the throbbing of his dick.

“Can see why you like it,” Mark appraised, running his fingertips over the fabric again. “World away from JB’s rough, stubbly face though,” he continued. Jake felt his whole body tighten. Mark turned to face him. “What was that like?”

Jake let his bottom lip slide reluctantly from his teeth. “You really want me to answer that?”

“I asked, didn’t I?” Mark responded pointedly.

Jake nodded. He considered the question. He felt hot, like his skin was too tight, and his skull felt tingly, making every hair stand on end. He didn’t like Mark’s scrutiny, didn’t like the honesty that he was requesting from Jake. Besides, he hadn’t even let himself think about what it felt like, he tried to block it from his mind as soon as Jenson had walked away, and the last thing he wanted was to dwell on it now, especially under Mark’s probing questions.

“Stubbly,” he finally responded, knowing that he had to say something.

“You can do better than that,” Mark said, turning to face him more fully. “Come on, this is your area, Jakey. I know how you love all that sensory shit. Let me inside your brain.”

Jake took a breath, looking down at the carpet. Did Mark not realise what he was asking of Jake? Of course he did, he just didn’t give a fuck.

“He felt.. warm,” Jake stated, trying to simultaneously recapture the moment and push it away. “And kind of sandy. That’s the texture. His stubble’s softer than yours, not as... sharp.”

“I’m sharp?” Mark asked, taking a step towards him. “That’s my texture? Sharp?”

Jake shrugged, unable to read Mark’s tone; not quite mocking, not quite earnest. Mark was infinite things to Jake, sometimes all in the same moment, he drowned Jake in sensations like a tidal wave and still Jake could pick every last one of them out, even if he’d never be able to put it into words. He couldn’t explain to Mark how sensitive his body was, how sometimes he felt like he could feel every molecule of the earth, but judging by the way that Mark liked to dissect him, he knew all too well how Jake worked.

Mark took another step towards him, their bodies almost touching. He bent forward, his mouth coming close to Jake’s ear, making him work hard to repress a shiver.

“Did you like it?”

Jake lifted his eyes up, meeting Mark’s gaze. “No.”

Mark’s lips curved up into a smile. “You’re a slut,” he stated. “You loved every squirming second of it.” He turned around, heading towards the window. “You love everything you hate.”

Jake felt his face flush again. Truer words never were spoken and all that.

The curtains were pulled closed and Jake watched as Mark ran his hand down the centre of them, pulling them slightly open and looking at something.

“Had my eye on this since Friday,” Mark stated. “Always got to have an eye for the details, mate. That’s what gets you ahead.”

He unhooked something from the curtains; the long wooden rod that aided the closing of the tall drapes. Jake had been using it all week and never thought anything of it. Mark, clearly, saw pervertibles everywhere, just like Jake saw textures.

Mark turned around, slapping the rod thoughtfully against his open palm as his eyes scanned up and down Jake’s body, his intentions in no doubt. Jake shifted on his feet, the sound of the cane hitting Mark’s hand, even as softly as he was clearly doing it, making some intrinsic part of Jake sit up and pay attention. His ears felt alive, his skin tingling in anticipation, his heart beating a little faster, a flutter rather than a thud.

“Who do you belong to?” Mark asked, his voice sounding genuinely curious.

“You,” Jake answered without hesitation.

“Right,” Mark agreed, the word drawn out, considered. He looked to the bed, the satin dressing gown spread over it. “Let’s help you remember that.” His eyes flicked back up to Jake like a predator zeroing in on its prey. “Strip.” The word was emphasised by a slap of the rod against Mark’s hand and Jake couldn’t have held off the shiver if he’d tried.

Jake’s hands felt embarrassingly unsure as his fingers fumbled with the buttons of his shirt, cursing his decision to not change into his sleep things as soon as he got back to his room; this would be so much easier in a T-shirt and pyjama bottoms. He looked down at what he was doing, focussing intently until he had every button unfastened, able to shrug the shirt from his shoulders and onto the floor.

He looked up, seeing Mark toe off his trainers and unfasten the button on his jeans, pulling down his fly. Jake’s own hands on his belt stilled, watching as Mark pushed the denim down, leaving his underwear in place. As he stood up straight again, jeans and socks abandoned on Jake’s floor, he took in Jake with a look of amusement.

“Calm down, I’m just getting a bit more comfortable,” he said, reaching to retrieve the curtain rod from where he’d placed it on the desk. “I’ve got a feeling this might take a while.” He looked pointedly at Jake’s trousers. “Especially if you don’t start listening a bit more carefully, mate.”

Jake swallowed, working his belt open and stripping himself from the waist down as quickly as he could, leaving himself stood naked. He looked at the bed, at the dressing gown, and then up at Mark, daring to hope.

“Go ahead,” Mark told him with a little nod. “Get nice and comfy, then we can begin.”

Jake moved towards the bed, reaching out a hand and skimming it over the cool fabric of the dressing gown. He breathed in sharply, resisting the urge to do it again. He could get lost just in this, the smoothness, the way it seemed to caress him back with each touch. Biting down on his lip he considered his options, the material not quite long enough for the whole length of his body. He wanted to bury his face in it but he wanted to feel it right down to his toes.

The rod slammed down right in the centre of the fabric, making Jake jump back half a step with a gasp. He looked up at Mark who lifted the cane again, resting it casually on his shoulder as he considered Jake.

“This is the weirdest foreplay ever.”

Jake frowned and then looked back to the bed. There was an impact line across his dressing gown, a dip in the fabric, spoiling the wonderful flow of the material. Jake cocked his head at it, wanting to straighten it again. He took a breath though, forced himself to focus. He wanted lines like that across his skin, wanted Mark to paint him and mark him and make him his own.

Climbing onto the bed, Jake tried not to think about the fact that he was ruining the aesthetic of the material more with his clumsy body. He laid himself on top of it, choosing to have his toes resting against the material. Having his face pressed into the fabric might have proved too much with so many other things going on. This was perfect, each little movement of his foot letting him feel the slide of the fabric, it’s liquid quality. As he settled against the robe he couldn’t help wriggling against it, feeling its complete lack of resistance, conjuring images in Jake’s head of something wanton and slutty.

He heard Mark’s footsteps on the carpet, muted by the thick pile that felt good beneath Jake’s own bare feet. He stilled his body, fanning his fingers out against the satin beneath him, savouring it. He listened, senses hyper-aware, the rush of the cane through the air seeming to come at the same moment as the impact. He sucked in air, a sound like a hiss, as the white hot line of pain seized his body. Mark lifted the cane immediately from his skin, letting the heat radiate downwards, sinking deeper into him, spreading over his flesh. He let out a shuddery breath, appreciating every sensation, the subtle differences between the heat and the pain as they began to settle and mingle together.

He knew what was coming next and so he told his muscles to relax, letting himself melt into the fabric that begged surrender from him anyway. The strikes were so much easier to take when his body didn’t offer them any resistance. The next hit was lighter, a more sensuous feeling after the hard, sharp hit. It was followed quickly by another one and then another, a steady rhythm over the curve of his arse. It was a different sensation, like a pitter-patter of red hot raindrops soaking into him. He groaned appreciatively, pressing his cheek against the duvet as he closed his eyes tight.

He wanted to move, not away from the gentle, almost teasing hits that Mark was giving him, not towards them, he simply wanted to shift his body against the satin, wanted to feel it touch him back. He wanted to wiggle his toes, swipe his fingers, rub his cock, but he didn’t want to upset that perfect rhythm that made him tingle, made him sink into the mattress with acceptance and promise.

The cane lifted from his body and then didn’t return, leaving the warmth of his arse to sink right down into him. Jake did shift then, a little wriggle of his whole body, making an appreciative noise before beginning to take in deep breaths. There was no apprehension; Mark could read him like a book and he’d wait until Jake had his heart rate down before he continued with anything else. Jake let the breaths wash over him, the coolness of them in direct contrast to the heat that seeped right down into his deep tissues, threatening to run straight through him.

The next hit was somewhere between the taps and the sharp smack he’d received the first time. The cane struck him and then Mark held it there, pushing into the burning stripe of flesh for a couple of seconds before he lifted it, letting the pain flare deeper as the tissue was released, the pain expanding through him. He shuddered, his skin sensitized by the gentle caning, feeling everything so much more keenly. Mark let him appreciate it, let the sensations run through their little cycle, and then he hit him again, the same technique, holding for a couple of seconds and then lifting to let the pain free to ravage Jake’s body.

As Mark continued this new rhythm - hit, hold, release, wait, undoubtedly grin - Jake began to groan with each fresh contact, feeling it vibrate satisfyingly down to his cock, his balls, even that spot deep inside him. Each stroke was a fraction harder than the last, Jake unable to escape the tiny subtleties, trapped inside the moment. He could feel the strength of Mark’s hits increasing, could feel how his body changed with each fresh welt, reacting slightly differently as his sensitivity increased. He could feel it right up his spine, down through his thighs, disconnecting him from his surrounds. He felt freed, released from responsibility and completely owned.

Mark brought the cane down again, hard, and then instead of lifting it he slid it sideways. Jake cried out, feeling as though he were being sliced open. Mark repeated the motion, slightly lower down, and Jake whined, shivering at the sensation. It was like a thread being pulled through his flesh, dragging the pain outwards towards Mark’s body. Mark did it a third time, lower still, and Jake felt like he could come.

The bed dipped beside him and Mark’s hand rested on his arse. Jake shuffled slightly, making a small noise, aware of the heat that must be coming off him. Mark’s fingers moved slowly, gently, stroking over the sore flesh and making little lights explode behind Jake’s eyes. He squirmed, a series of whimpers escaping his throat.

“Stop moving,” Mark told him. “Or we’re going back to the cane.”

Jake took some deep breaths, instructing his body to melt back into the mattress. Mark waited, his hand still resting on Jake’s arse, feeling for that surrender that would run through his body. When he felt it, his fingers began to move again, sending shockwaves through every nerve ending in Jake’s body. Mark leant down to him, blowing over the hot skin and making him shiver and want to writhe. He closed his hands in the fabric of the dressing gown instead, handfuls of satin calming him. Mark chuckled, a sound laced with affection, and then he placed a single finger on the top of Jake’s arse, digging the fingernail in before dragging downwards slowly, so slowly, making Jake feel like he was going to explode. He whined, a single note that grew in pitch as Mark scratched over the raw skin, a line of fire. As Mark got back to his feet, Jake felt dizzy.

“I think you need more,” Mark stated matter of factly.

Jake’s eyes shot open, seeking Mark out. “Wha’?”

“You can take it,” Mark assured him, picking the cane back up. He looked down at Jake. “Deep breaths,” he instructed.

Jake nodded, closing his eyes to concentrate on each breath. He was still there on the edge, his body singing, and if Mark said he could take it, Jake believed him. He let his muscles settle, the throbbing pain of each angry line grounding him in the moment. This would make it better; an intensity that would truly transport him away.

“You’re getting five more,” Mark told him. “I want you to count them.”

The cane came down hard on Jake’s backside, harder than it had before. It was a shock, a rush of stinging pain followed by the blossoming heat that took it deeper, and Jake cried out, his body instinctively clenching up with the hit. It took him a couple of shaky breaths to remember what Mark had asked of him.

“One,” he said, his voice sounding far away.

Mark hit him again, harder still, and Jake couldn’t help the way his body reacted, every muscle in his body contracting with the shock of pain. It was like he could feel Mark everywhere.

“Two.”

The next stroke was harder still, making Jake give a little shout as his body jumped again, a sensation like the sharp part of pins and needles running down to his fingers.

“Three.”

He gritted his teeth through the next one, feeling it all internalise. He felt like he was being taken inside himself and yet he felt laid out and exposed, taken apart.

“Four.”

The final stroke was the hardest yet and Jake felt like he heard it as much as he felt it, the whack of it against his skin, the severe bite as it smacked a searing line across his already raw flesh. He whimpered with it, his body trying to curl itself in a ball, but he breathed through the worst of it, letting his body go limp against the satin that promised to catch him. It seemed like minutes before he finally got out the word he knew was required.

“Five.”

His breaths sounded too loud as everything else in the room came to a stop. Even the air seemed to settle, weighing heavy against Jake’s flesh. He could feel every molecule now, every particle of dust passing over his skin, threatening to overload him. He moved a single finger of his right hand against the satin beneath him and he was sure he could feel it through his whole body.

Mark climbed onto the bed beside him, stretching his body out parallel to Jake’s, his breath falling gently over Jake’s face, his closed eyes. Jake listened, feeling every movement as Mark shuffled beside him, getting himself comfortable. Then he felt Mark reach across his body, fingertips following the curve of Jake’s shoulder, down and up and down again. Jake sighed against the light whisper of a touch, so responsive to every tiny stimulation. He could feel the material of Mark’s T-shirt trailing across his shoulder blades and it made him shiver and squirm, too sensitive.

As his hips shifted he felt his hard cock rub against the material of the dressing gown and he groaned appreciatively, the stinging lines of heat across his arse almost making him forget about the wonderful pleasure that was wound so tight beneath it. He could feel it flaring now though, spreading hotly in the same way that each strike of the cane had radiated through him. It was almost unbearable, an overload of sensation, but he still felt greedy for more.

Mark nudged closer, his lips pressing against Jake’s, his fingers continuing their sweeping path over Jake’s neck and shoulder. Jake made a noise of approval, willing himself to kiss back, but his body felt heavy, not quite under his control. He settled for parting his lips in invitation, groaning when Mark slid his tongue inside; a sensation of wetness, slippery like the satin beneath him.

As Mark’s tongue retreated again he opened his mouth wider, covering Jake’s lips with his own. His hand slid across Jake’s shoulder blades and up to his face, touching his cheek briefly before he pinched Jake’s nose between his thumb and forefinger. Jake’s eyes flew open, his body instantly tightening in response. Mark breathed in deeply through his nose and then exhaled through his mouth, right into Jake’s lungs. Jake felt dizzy with the intimacy, the dependency of the act. He shivered as Mark moved back, letting him take in shaky breaths on his own. Jake just stared at him, slack-jawed, as Mark let go of his nose, offering a dazzling smile and a teasing wink.

Mark held his gaze for a moment longer before sweeping his eyes down over Jake’s body. For a moment Jake thought he could feel it, his senses overlapping with each other, but then he realised it was Mark’s hand stroking down his back, fingertips dragging softly over his skin. When they reached the dip at the base of his spine Jake tensed, bracing himself for the touch to pass over the tender skin of his arse, but Mark just slid his hand back up again, smiling at Jake’s reaction. His hand continued to stroke soothingly up and down Jake’s back, easing all the tension right out of him. Jake let his eyes slide closed again, humming gently as he shuffled his hips, rubbing his cock against the satin again, Mark’s rhythmic touch accentuating everything, stretching the sensation right up his spine.

Mark trailed his lips up Jake’s jaw, rubbing his stubble against Jake’s cheek as his mouth reached Jake’s ear. It wasn’t like sandpaper, wasn’t bristly like Jenson either. Mark felt scratchy, like tiny pinpricks of wire rubbing against his flesh. Mark’s hand made its way down his spine again, that familiar movement, but the momentum didn’t stall this time, didn’t go back on itself. Instead the fingers continued downwards, brushing lightly over Jake’s arse before resting against the back of his thigh. Jake let out a shaky breath, feeling hot then cold then strangely restless, all in the space of a heartbeat.

“Do you want a fuck?” Mark asked, words rumbling right into Jake’s ear. Mark’s hand came back up again, resting heavily on Jake’s arse, and Jake felt like all the heat of his throbbing flesh was being radiated right back into him, sweat prickling up on the back of his neck. “Do you want a nice, slow, deep fuck?”

Mark’s fingers gripped, squeezing Jake’s arse, making his mouth fall open in a silent exclamation. He could feel each of Mark’s fingers digging in, his skin feeling like it could tear apart beneath them. He nodded his head.

“Say please,” Mark prompted, his voice taunting, his grip tightening infinitesimally.

“Please,” Jake gritted out, his voice not sounding like his own.

Mark released his grip, tapping Jake’s arse lightly, a distant echo of the smacks he received from the cane. As Mark left the bed, Jake indulged himself in rubbing his cock against the satin again, grinding his hips down into the material. He heard the drawer by the bed open and knew that Mark was retrieving the lube from the rolled up sock where Jake always kept it hidden in case of nosy maids. Mark thought it was hilarious that Jake was so careful. Jake thought Mark could stand to learn a few things about discretion.

Mark climbed back onto the bed, straddling Jake’s thighs. He was still wearing his underwear and Jake made a noise of disappointment, hoping he would have stripped off by now, hoping that he could have that wonderful sensation of skin against skin.

“What’s wrong with you?” Mark asked, the lube flipping open, and Jake imagined those long fingers coated with glistening wetness. He wanted to suck them. He wanted to feel them inside him. He shook his head; nothing was wrong.

Mark shifted his weight and then one hand pulled Jake’s arse open, making the raw skin at either side feel even more taut and aching than before. He groaned, rubbing his cheek against the covers to try and distract himself from how much he wanted to grind his hips down again. He had to stay still; he had to put himself fully in Mark’s hands again.

A slick finger pressed against his opening, sliding in to the first knuckle and then wiggling around in a way that almost tickled. Jake couldn’t help squirming against it, making the sensitive skin of his arse cheeks tighten against Mark’s hold. He could just imagine the smug smile on Mark’s face. The finger pressed in further, a slow and steady pressure, before it was dragging back out again, Mark’s fingertip tracing the ring of muscle around and around until Jake squirmed again, making a shiver go right up his spine. Mark pressed his finger in deep, leaving it there for a moment before pulling it out and pushing back in with two. The stretch made Jake whine, shifting again, not caring that it made the fingers of Mark’s other hand dig into his stinging flesh. Like this it felt good, perfect, pain and pleasure meeting somewhere in the middle and feeling only _intense._

Jake felt his body responding to Mark’s hands, moving with his every touch. He felt like Mark was moulding him, taking his beaten flesh and turning it into something else. He was under his skin as well as inside him, as deep as he could possibly get, taking away the layers and leaving him only with what was vital. It was such an intimate feeling, being taken apart, being laid bare in a way that was so much more revealing than nudity. This is what Jake craved, to be known, to be judged, and to be somehow not found lacking. He was never quite sure what Mark saw in these moments, he cringed under the scrutiny if he thought about it too hard, but he believed it and he accepted it and he knew that was all that really mattered.

Mark slid his fingers out, the rustle of clothing telling Jake that he was finally taking his T-shirt off. This was confirmed when the material was dangled over Jake’s back, stroking from side to side. Jake moaned and writhed beneath Mark’s weight, the sensation like a thousand needles prickling over him. Mark tossed the item away and then lifted himself from Jake’s body, Jake making a needy little noise at the loss of contact; he needed his anchor.

When Mark returned though, weight pressing down on the back of Jake’s thighs again, he was naked, no barriers, and Jake was so gratified to finally have that pure sensation of flesh against flesh. Jake loved satin, loved silk, loved stinging pain and soft caresses, but nothing could ever really beat this. There was something so primal about skin on skin that he lost himself to it, often a little too easily. Mark had used that fact to embarrass him in the paddock on multiple occasions, knowing exactly what a simple, almost accidental, brush against Jake’s arm could do to him.

Mark leaned his body forwards, his legs bracketing Jake’s in and pushing them closer together as he held his weight on one arm, the other pulling Jake open again. As the tip of his cock pressed against Jake’s slick entrance, Jake whined, wondering if he could find the words to beg, wondering if Mark was going to make him. Mark took pity, or his own impatience got the better of him, pushing himself slowly inside, a steadily building pressure that made Jake feel like he was going to explode. Everything felt so close in that first thrust, so tight and suffocating. Mark stopped once he was halfway in, their bodies not quite connected, and Jake whined as he began to pull back out. He did it again, an incomplete thrust followed by a slow, dragging retreat, and Jake felt cheated. When Mark did it a third time, Jake felt everything in him tighten.

“Please,” he begged.

“Shhh,” Mark soothed. “You need to wait.”

Jake made a disgruntled noise, shaking his head.

“Yes,” Mark said firmly. “Trust me.”

Jake stilled, letting out a breath, the words silencing the flailing idiot inside him. He nodded his head in acceptance, moaning as Mark began to sink into him again. He concentrated on the friction of the tight ring of muscle, concentrated on the slide of Mark’s dick, concentrated on the way Mark’s thighs were pressing against him, sweat building up between them. He tried to push away the frustration that was building with each incomplete thrust, his body feeling unfulfilled, knowing what was being withheld from him. Just as he was getting to the point where he was ready to beg again, his faith in whatever the fuck Mark was trying to do slipping, Mark leaned down over him further, his cock almost out of Jake’s arse but his shoulders touching Jake’s shoulders, his breath falling against the side of Jake’s face.

“You ready for this?” he asked.

Jake nodded, made a noise of desperation. He wasn’t sure what _this_ was but he really didn’t give a fuck anymore. Mark began to push into him again but this time he didn’t stop, opening Jake up fully, his dick going all the way inside. That wasn’t what Jake was focussing on though, not when Mark’s pelvis was pushing into his caned arse, the steady pressure making the pain spread through him afresh. It was less intense now, warm instead of hot, the stinging bleeding into something like a harsh tingle, pins and needles and tiny little bites of pleasure-pain. He moaned, pinned down against the satin beneath him, utterly unable to move, and it made the hurt push right through to his bones.

“See?” Mark asked.

Jake made an incoherent noise, wanting Mark to move and never wanting him to move again. Mark placed a kiss against his temple.

“Gonna make you come all over that lovely robe now,” Mark told him. “Sound good?”

Jake nodded, taking a deep breath. He expected Mark to pull back, give him full thrusts, a good, thorough fucking, but instead he simply ground his hips down into Jake. Jake moaned, overwhelmed at the sensations that shot through him. Each circle of Mark’s hips shifted the meat of Jake’s arse, massaging the pain deeper and deeper into him, making him feel each strike of the cane again. His cock stayed deep inside Jake, the feeling of fullness intensified by the shifting, the gentle friction that slowly opened Jake up. The pressure of Mark’s body pushed Jake’s own hips into the bed, his cock rubbed against the satin with each circle of Mark’s pelvis, and Jake groaned, pushing himself down further.

There was something about Mark being so close to him, literally touching him from head to toe, that made Jake feel utterly owned. He was surrounded by Mark, held down without any restraints, helpless to do anything but feel. It was as though Mark had total control of his body, as though he were forcing him to breathe all over again. Jake bit down on his lip, whined at the heaviness building in his groin, the sensations piling up on each other, layer upon layer, until he felt those sparks, indistinct at first until he felt it grab hold, surrendering with a shudder as his orgasm came over him in waves, his dick throbbing in time with the stripes from his caning until everything melted into one.

Mark pulled almost out of him before his breath fell heavy against Jake’s ear. “Try not to scream,” he said. “We don’t want any noise complaints.”

Jake opened his eyes, trying to work out what Mark meant, when Mark thrust back into him hard, his pelvis slamming against Jake’s aching flesh. Jake did cry out, a sharp sound escaping his lips as the sensation reverberated through him. Mark pulled back and did it again, setting up a harsh rhythm that drove his cock in hard and smacked his hips against Jake’s arse. Every time they connected it set each welted line alight again. It was a less intense sensation than the true impact of the cane but feeling the echo of every strike he’d taken pushed down into him with each of Mark’s thrusts was almost too much for Jake’s body, so close to collapse already. He whined, his hands curling into fists around the satin beneath him, rubbing his fingertips against his palms to appreciate the fabric he held in his grasp.

Mark came, moans and curses mixing together as he slammed himself into Jake one final time. Jake shuddered with him, feeling his own body finally give, a surrender and release less spectacular than orgasm but somehow more meaningful. Mark shifted, still inside Jake, moving his leg so that he could place the top of his foot across the arch of Jake’s sole. They fit together, like a jigsaw puzzle, and Jake sighed, letting Mark’s heat sink right down into him.

When Mark finally shifted back, pulling out of him, Jake made a disgruntled noise, wanting to stay inside that moment just a little while longer. Mark moved from the bed and Jake opened his eyes to watch him cross the room, reaching into his jacket pocket and pulling out a marker pen. Jake raised his eyebrows, making a questioning sound.

“Don’t worry about it,” Mark told him, stepping back over to the bed.

Jake decided that was good advice, closing his eyes as Mark climbed back on top of him, straddling his thighs as he had before. Jake’s fingers had released and he stroked gently at the fabric beneath him with the pads of his fingers, each whorl of his fingerprints feeling too harsh for the smooth material. He heard the lid click off the pen but he didn’t jump when it touched his lower back, drawing some kind of small shape.

“Acrux,” Mark stated.

Jake didn’t understand the word but he liked the tone of Mark’s voice, the careful concentration he could hear it in. He murmured something that sounded like agreement, rewarded with the pen touching his skin again. It glided smoothly over the flesh just below Jake’s left shoulder blade, small lines describing something similar to the first mark.

“Mimosa,” Mark said as he lifted the pen again.

Jake nodded his head, murmured something else. Mark pressed the pen high up on Jake’s back, just below where the neck of his T-shirt would reach. The lump of his spine made the pen slightly unsteady as Mark drew another shape and Jake could feel the nib more firmly here, his flesh caught between the pen and the hardness of his bone.

“Gacrux,” Mark said.

Jake just hummed now, accepting. The next mark went on his right shoulder blade, the tickle of the nib drawing the now familiar set of lines that Jake couldn’t quite decipher. It was soothing, the rhythmic little touches that made his skin tingle slightly, the studied way in which Mark carried out the task.

“Delta Crucis,” Mark said.

Jake hummed again. The pen touched his skin a little further down, a little closer to his spine. The movements felt slightly different this time, smaller, the drawing finished with less lines than Jake was expecting.

“And that’s Epsilon Crucis,” Mark said with a note of finality, the lid clicking back on the pen.

“Okay,” Jake agreed, his voice breathy and far too relaxed.

“You’re totally wasted,” Mark stated, fondness in his voice. “And you’ve got some awesome stripes,” he added, fingertips trailing over Jake’s arse. Jake made a noise of discomfort, shifting under the touch. “Think you can pull off the nickname tiger?” Jake groaned. Mark chuckled and then gave a light slap to the skin, another little echo of what had come before. “Looking forward to that flight tomorrow morning?”

Jake grimaced; he’d forgotten about that. The thought of sitting anywhere, let alone a cramped airline seat, with the after-effects of a caning still throbbing through him was definitely not high up on Jake’s list of favourite things. When he felt Mark getting off him he opened his eyes, craning around to look at him.

“What did you draw?”

“Southern Cross, mate,” Mark replied, not looking at him. He picked his hat up from the desk and tossed it onto the bed. Jake reached for it, looking at the Australian flag, the little white stars. “That’s how you find your way home, when you’re in my part of the world.” Jake nodded, still staring at the flag. “I’m gonna grab a shower,” Mark told him.

“Yeah, fine,” Jake said distractedly.

He put his head back down on the bed, the hat in front of him, and touched each of the stars in turn, remembering the care Mark had taken as he’d inked them onto his skin, the concentration in his voice as he’d named each one. It felt incredibly intimate, being given this intrinsic part of who Mark was. He smiled to himself, still staring at the flag as his hand slid around to the peak of the cap, fingertips running over the embroidered signature, following the curves of Mark’s name until the sound of the shower lulled him off to sleep.


End file.
